


These Things to Which We Cling

by LamentingQuill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 21:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LamentingQuill/pseuds/LamentingQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The words rose in her throat burning like acid and she tried to hold them back; tried desperately not to let them escape in fear of his reaction. But her efforts were in vain as they spilled forcefully over her lips, a tidal wave of emotion that wouldn’t be stopped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Things to Which We Cling

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to "Mourning Cry of Ecstasy" but may stand alone.

** These Things to Which We Cling **

by

_Lamenting Quill_

* * *

 

 

Her cane seemed to mock her in the empty hall, each echoing _tap_ against the stone floor reminding her of her infirmity. The rain was pouring outside, no doubt washing the four-day-old bloodstains from the finally silent battlefield in Godric’s Hollow. She wished she could wash them so easily from her memory.

Her leg ached as she walked through the ancient halls of Hogwarts Castle – the halls that had once rang with innocent chatter and youthful laughter, but now were filled with the mourning sound of children crying for their parents. The once happy school had been transformed into a makeshift orphanage and sanctum for the children whose parents were either dead, missing, or in St. Mungo’s.

As the head of the organisation Hermione hardly had a moment’s peace, for which she was infinitely thankful. She couldn’t afford to be left alone with her thoughts, for she knew that she would crumble under the weight of remembrances. Every time she closed her eyes she was transported back to the battlefield. She saw flashes of dying faces, friends lost, blood everywhere. A dark figure in the doorway of her tent…

She stopped walking, taking a deep breath. She couldn’t think about those things right now. She had responsibilities to attend to that no one should have to deal with, let alone someone as young as she. But war had no respect of persons, and the able and willing dealt with the aftermath while the injured healed and the dead were buried.

Willing back the tears that gathered in her eyes, she raised her head to face her task. Her trembling hand came up to grab the doorknob of the old classroom on the first floor they had turned into a meeting room for parents looking for their children. As the knob twisted in her fingers, she felt her heart twist with it, and she raised her head a little higher.

As soon as she stepped into the room she was met with the hopeful faces of the man and woman seated on the worn sofa. She cleared her throat, not releasing her hold on the doorknob. She shook her head at the couple, her voice cracking as she said, “She isn’t here. She was found on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. The Death Eater who had kidnapped her was found right beside her. The speculation is that the Death Eater was engaged in a duel by an Auror during the Hogsmeade attack, and little Alana was caught in the crossfire. It looks like it was quick, so she didn’t suffer.”

Unable to bear the broken look on the woman’s face, Hermione uttered a soft, “I’m so sorry, Mr and Mrs Clarke,” before she quickly left the grieving couple alone to mourn the loss of their six-year-old daughter. She had lost count of how many of these painful messages she had given in the four short-yet-long days since the end of the war, but each one had left its own mark on her battered soul.

Walking into the Great Hall now turned infirmary, Hermione took in the sight of all the children being treated and soothed by the volunteer matrons. The only thing that kept her sane in these days was the fact that she was needed by these children, and nothing warmed her more than when she was able to reunite a child with their parents – and in the same, nothing turned her colder than when she couldn’t.

She was startled from her thoughts as she heard the front doors open, and she saw Remus running toward her, his robe drenched with rain and his face pale with fatigue. She moved hurriedly to meet him, her mind automatically dredging up the worst things imaginable. “Remus, what is it? What’s happened?” she asked frantically, as soon as she was near enough to do so without alarming the children any more than they already were by his sudden appearance.

“Hermione,” he panted, reaching out a hand to grab her arm, steadying himself as he caught his breath. “They’ve found him. He’s being treated at St. Mungo’s as we speak. It doesn’t look good, but he’s coherent. We can’t get him to tell us what happened. He’s asking for you.”

“Wait for me in the Entrance Hall, I’m on my way,” she said quickly, rushing out of the Hall and upstairs to the Hospital Wing turned nursery where Molly was taking care of the youngest children. Her mind was continually repeating the phrase _‘He’s alive… he’s alive…’_ and her heart was pounding in her chest.

She stopped running (as well as she could run with a cane) as she reached the door, not wanting to race inside and frighten the little ones. Calmly entering the nursery, she walked briskly over to the Weasley matriarch who had just pulled the covers over the sleeping frame of a two-year-old little boy. “Molly, something’s come up and I’m needed at St. Mungo’s. I’m leaving you in charge, and I’m not sure how long I’ll be. I’ve just informed the Clarke’s of Alana’s death, so if you could go and check on them it would be greatly appreciated. They’re in the meeting room.”

“Of course,” Mrs Weasley replied, looking at her worriedly, “nothing too serious, I hope?”

Hermione was already on her way back out of the room before Molly had completed her reply, but she stopped in the doorway and looked back, saying, “Let us pray, Molly. Let us pray,” and then she was rushing back down the stairs and into the Entrance Hall where she found Remus waiting for her. She pulled a cloak quickly from the closet and threw it on. Remus said nothing to her as he held the door for her, and she was grateful. She felt if she tried to speak anymore just now she’d fall apart at the seams.

She hadn’t seen him since he came to her after Minerva’s death, five days before the war ended. That made nine days of fearing the worst, nine days of secretly dreaming while trying not to get her hopes up, nine days of what ifs, hows, whys… nine days of wishing for this moment. Now that it was here she found she was completely unprepared. As she followed Remus down the drenched lawns to the Apparition point she let her mind wander back to that last encounter.

_Hermione held him close as he collapsed on top of her, his face buried in the crook of her neck as he trembled. She wasn’t sure how much time passed – she was never sure these days – but she was content to hold him, whispering soothing words until the trembling stopped and he pulled away, leaving a gentle kiss on her shoulder. She watched him as he got up, retrieving his wand and removing the evidence of their joining before picking up his tainted robes and silently putting them back on. They never spoke after. Words weren’t needed. Hence, she was surprised when Severus stopped in the doorway of her tent, back facing her and not turning around._

_“Hermione…” he said softly. “I don’t know what I have left of myself to give you – what I’ll ever have. But if I have anything left after this war, will you take it?”_

_Hermione felt her heart swell. She wanted to run over to him, to cling to him and tell him she loved him and that she would always take whatever he wanted to give her. But she wouldn’t. Saying unnecessary words to him would only complicate things; would only make it harder if something happened to either of them. Instead, she uttered a simple, “Yes.” after which she watched his fingers tighten into his fist, knowing that he wanted to turn and come back to her, to hold her and not let go. It was enough._

_“Thank you,” he whispered, never looking back as he exited her tent to head once more to the battlefield._

What if he regretted those parting words? She knew that she didn’t regret her acceptance of them, and she wasn’t sure she could bear his rejection now. Not after everything else. She couldn’t get Remus’s words out of her head either, _“It doesn’t look good.”_ Whether he regretted his words or not, she knew she couldn’t lose him. As she reached the Apparition point with Remus, she ignored the fact that raindrops weren’t the only wetness gracing her cheeks.

She was barely aware of appearing in the lobby of the packed hospital, she barely registered the sounds of the grieving, the cries of the wounded, and the demands to find loved ones. She was only aware of the catch in her side as she continued to run on Remus’s heels through the white halls, anticipation and fear gnawing at her stomach as her leg ached more painfully than it had That Night. By the time Remus finally came to a stop outside of a closed door, she was leaning heavily on her cane, trying to keep the agony from showing on her face.

“Hermione,” Remus said quietly, placing a hand on her soaked shoulder, “I won’t even pretend to understand why you wanted to be notified as soon as Severus was found, why he would be asking for you, or what happened between you during the battle; but whatever the reason, whatever your relationship, you need to prepare yourself. There’s a chance that he won’t-”

“Don’t,” she whispered, cutting him off. “Please, don’t say it.”

He looked at her seriously, hazel eyes conveying the gravity of the situation far better than his words could, and he squeezed her shoulder before releasing it. “I’ll be across the hall in the waiting room if you need me,” he said, before leaving her alone facing the door.

She took a deep breath and tightened her grip on her cane before pushing the door open and stepping inside. The fine thread holding her emotions together finally snapped, and the sob escaped her throat before she even realised it had risen there as she saw him. He was lying unmoving in the bed, his pallid skin even whiter than usual, dark circles marring the skin beneath his closed eyes. He looked so weak, so frail and fragile, and it hurt her to see him that way, so far removed from the man she remembered.

She made her way to his bedside, sinking gratefully into the chair there and taking the weight off her leg. She reached out and placed her hand atop the one he had lying on the white blanket, squeezing his fingers tightly as she fought to control her emotions. Her heart stilled as she felt him return the squeeze, and she watched as his brow furrowed and a shallow groan escaped his lips.

“Hermione….”

His voice was faint and hoarse, and it made her heart clench. She leaned in closer to his bed, using her free hand to sooth the lines in his forehead, something he used to do to her during Those Nights, and she noticed he was warm with fever. “Shh… I’m here, Severus. I’m right here,” she said softly, and she saw the corner of his mouth lift slightly in what she thought might be a hint of a smile, but the next second she felt his fingers relax in her grip and all expression leave his pale face.

She almost panicked, afraid that she had lost him, but then she saw his chest rising with shallow breaths, and she released a sigh of relief, more tears escaping their confines as she gazed at his sleeping form. She raised her eyes to the ceiling, looking up towards any higher deities that might be watching her, and she said, “Please, don’t take him from me. If you have any mercy, let him live.”

Hearing the sudden opening of the door, Hermione snapped her head around, quickly drying her eyes as she saw a tall man enter dressed in signature lime-green Healer’s robes and followed by Remus. She looked at the two men curiously as the Healer glanced at her over the top of a chart.

“Miss Granger, I’m Healer Fairfield. Mr Lupin informs me that you are the closest thing to family that Mr Snape has. Is this true?”

She shot a grateful look at Remus for his blind understanding before nodding to the Healer. “Yes, I suppose I am. Can you tell me his diagnosis and the chances for his recovery, Healer Fairfield?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm and even.

“I can tell you that we do not know what happened to him. He arrived here earlier this evening, found by one of the volunteer’s involved in the Victim Search, near Malfoy Manor I believe. It appears he has a nasty bite to the hip from some sort of magical snake, similar to a case we had a few years back. Only with this bite the wound has become severely infected due to the length he has gone without treating it. The infection has poisoned his bloodstream.

“Apart from that he had several nasty burns, abrasions, bruises and lacerations that we were mostly able to heal already. He had a few broken bones, but those were taken care of easily, and they’ve mended back perfectly. Our only worry is getting rid of the infection and healing the snakebite. The next forty-eight hours will be very telling in his chances of recovery, but as of right now…” the Healer shook his head, meeting her watery brown eyes with his calm blue ones. “We will do everything we can, but I advise you not to get your hopes up, Miss Granger.”

Unable to contemplate the full weight of his words, she managed to nod, eyes glued to the face of the man who had stolen her heart. He had been the only thing that kept her going through the gruelling war, through the pain of losing those she cared about, through the fear of her life being the next to be taken. She had been in torment when he stopped showing up in the doorway of her tent. She had wanted to go and search for him but knew she couldn’t. She hadn’t known where to begin the search, and she couldn’t abandon her comrades to fight the battle without her.

She had never stopped thinking about him, though. She had never stopped worrying and wondering and remembering. His parting words played over and over in her mind like a broken record. She had known the moment he uttered them that it had cost him greatly to do so. The only thing that had kept her going after his disappearance had been the children left in the aftermath of Voldemort’s downfall. But if she lost him now… she couldn’t bear to even think of it.

“We gave him Dreamless Sleep just moments before you arrived,” Healer Fairfield said, “so he should sleep through the night tonight. He will get another round of treatments in the morning, and we will see how he responds. If his response to the treatment is positive, his chances of survival will be greatly increased. I advise you to return home and get some rest, Miss Granger. There’s nothing more to be done for him tonight.”

Pulling her gaze from Severus’s resting face she looked up at the Healer and shook her head. “I will be staying here tonight.”

“Miss Granger, I really must insist-”

“She will be staying here tonight, Healer Fairfield. Perhaps you could send for a Medi-Witch to bring an extra blanket and a pain potion. Miss Granger has a lingering war injury and I am sure is experiencing some discomfort presently,” Remus interrupted, his voice as gentle as always, but laced with an underlying tone that brooked no argument.

The two men stared at one another for a moment before Healer Fairfield gave in, nodding his head reluctantly as he said the Medi-Witch would be in directly and bade them both goodnight, exiting the room and shutting the door silently behind him.

Hermione wanted to thank Remus, wanted to tell him how much she appreciated his help and understanding, but she found that the words stuck in her throat as she felt Severus’s fingers contract in her hand, an unconscious reflex in his sleep. She looked down at their hands then, entwining her shorter fingers with his longer ones and squeezing tightly.

She had been strong throughout the war, strong in the aftermath, but she found in this moment she couldn’t be strong any longer. She had lost Ron, watched Charlie fall, witnessed Neville’s death at the hand of a giant. She had seen the two jets of green light steal the life of the Creevey brothers…. Mad-Eye was gone, Kingsley was gone, and Minerva was gone. So many lost, and so many she had yet to properly mourn. She hadn’t the opportunity; tears wouldn’t help the children who had lost their parents, so she had spared no time for it. But now, with the possibility of losing Severus too, she couldn’t keep the sorrow at bay.

The sob escaped her throat before she had the chance to even attempt to halt it, and she raised her and Severus’s entwined hands to her forehead, closing her eyes as her grief and fear overtook her. She felt Remus move to stand beside her, felt his hand come to rest between her shaking shoulders. He said nothing, offered no words of comfort, and she was eternally grateful. She didn’t want to hear that everything would be okay. She didn’t want to be consoled with meaningless words.

Somehow, Remus seemed to know that. And so she let herself cry, and she drew comfort from the cold hand wrapped in her own, as well as the warm hand resting comfortingly on her back. She would be strong again tomorrow, but for now… for now she needed to be weak.

 

* * *

 

The first thing she became aware of upon coming out of her restless slumber was the lightest of touches against her hair. The second was the throbbing pain in both her leg and her back from lying hunched over, her head resting on Severus’s bed. Raising her head slowly, she met the obsidian gaze that had plagued her thoughts continuously for the past ten days.

“Severus,” she whispered, as though that desperate utterance of his name said everything that needed said. Perhaps it did, for his fingers tightened in her hair and he tugged gently.

She acquiesced to his silent plea and rose, moving to sit on the mattress next to him, brushing a lock of hair from his face with something near reverence.

“You’re here,” he said hoarsely, tiredly.

She nodded. “I’m here.” And she watched as he closed his eyes, grimacing slightly at some pain unknown to her – and perhaps to him – from a source that she couldn’t see, and the only words she found she could say were, “I’ll get the Healer.”

“Don’t leave.”

The desperation in his failing voice gave her pause, momentarily stealing her breath. She leaned forward, placing a soft kiss against his dry and cracked lips as she said, “Never, Severus; never. I’ll only be a second.” She moved reluctantly from his side and stuck her head out of the door, spying Remus seated across the hall in the waiting room.

“Remus,” she called, and he glanced up immediately, standing and walking towards her. “He’s awake. Could you get the Healer for me, please?”

“Of course I will. I’ll be right back.”

True to his word Hermione had hardly made it back to Severus’s side before Healer Fairfield came in, sparing no time for pleasantries as he began to examine his patient.

“Well?” Hermione said impatiently, as he stood back, a puzzled look on his face and his arms folded across his chest.

“His fever has gone down, and that’s a good sign. But I’m concerned about the leg where the bite-wound was inflicted. The infection is still embedded, and I worry about him ever regaining use of the leg. Not to mention if we can’t get the infection out…” he let the statement hang in the air, thick and foreboding. “I’m going to have to ask that you and Mr Lupin step out of the room, Miss Granger. We need to attempt to drain the infection.”

It wasn’t Hermione or Remus who responded to that, but Severus, as he said barely audibly, “She stays.”

“I really don’t think-”

“You heard your patient, Healer Fairfield. She stays,” Remus replied.

And so she did, though it wasn’t pleasant.

She held onto Severus the best she could as the Healers worked, trying to extract as much of the infection as possible through the open wound in his right hip. They couldn’t risk giving him a pain potion, and Hermione thought her ears may never cease to ring with the sounds of his screams.

Then after what felt like hours, her eyes aching from the effort of neither looking at Severus’s agonised face or the grotesque work of the Healers, it was over and the room was empty but for the two of them, quiet but for the ringing in her ears and the laboured breathing of the man she still held to tightly. Her muscles were tense and she wondered could she even let go of him now if she tried. She didn’t try, only held tighter, whispering words she hoped were comforting, hoped were even words as she wasn’t certain.

She hadn’t been aware of the wetness on her face until a cold, shaking hand was brushing it away, and she managed to pull back then and look into the eyes she had been avoiding, wishing to sooth the brow still scrunched in lingering pain. And she tried, ran her fingers over it lovingly, leant forward and gently kissed it, but it refused to be soothed and she couldn’t help wonder if the man would ever be free of pain. Whether physical or other, and she came to the unwanted conclusion that no, no matter how she wished it to be so, no amount of touch or words of comfort offered on her part could ever penetrate his wall of suffering – built by the hands of others and situations uncontrollable, but ultimately reinforced by his own hands, creating an infallible fortress of misery and self-loathing.

In that one small moment, she almost felt like giving up. Felt that nothing resembling ‘good’ could possibly come of this; of them. She wasn’t strong enough to fight through Severus’s defences, would be crushed and ground to nothing more than blood and the dust of crumbled dreams. But then he spoke her name, quiet, pained. She kissed his lips out of sheer desperation, requiring selfish reassurances from a man not fit to give them, and yet he did so gladly and freely. And she took them, swallowed them down greedily with the taste of him, her heart extracting the nutrients from his mouth as her body would from food.

And then they were apart, and she was staring once more into his dark eyes at once open and shuttered, hard and soft, cold and warm, and she let his gaze devour her as his lips had – only this seemed more intimate, more puissant. She allowed it to consume her until she felt afire from it, felt if she didn’t say something, anything, she would surely combust. The words rose in her throat burning like acid and she tried to hold them back. She tried desperately not to let them escape in fear of his reaction. Her efforts were in vain as they spilled forcefully over her lips, a tidal wave of emotion that wouldn’t be stopped.

“I love you.”

She sat there, vulnerable in the aftermath as she searched his face desperately for a sign, be it good or bad, but she found none. She found only shock, unguarded and blatant, and even though she knew not what to make of it she felt she had been given a gift, and she relished in it as she would if he had repeated the words back to her. His hands cupped her face, clammy and perfect, fierce and gentle, and then he was kissing her again and her meek declaration seemed to pale in comparison to his tongue speaking to hers.

It seemed to say, ‘I know. I have seen it in your actions.’ His fingers gently carding through her hair said to her, ‘I love you too,’ as his muscles, tense in his restraint, added, ‘even though I don’t deserve you.’ And she decided that words were overrated and meaningless vessels of things far better said silently, so she replied in kind by pulling her lips away from his, burying her face in the crook of his neck and resting her hand on his chest over his heart, hoping the action conveyed, ‘Deserved or not, I’m yours, for as long as you will have me.’

And in the silence of the room the echo of his choked sob reverberating through white walls spoke as clear and crisp as if the words had been yelled in her ears.

‘Thank you.’

And somehow it was more meaningful than words of love or devotion, and it imprinted itself in her heart and spirit as she clung to him, hope blossoming in her soul like pink on a maiden’s cheek. The world was still full of uncertainty and sadness in the wake of war, and she knew the children she tended were still crying for parents that might never return to them. But right now, wrapped in strong arms and silent assurances, she thought that yes, just maybe life really can go on, and the despair can truly be replaced by happiness.

She wasn’t certain if it was true, but she grasped it desperately, and when a familiar hand closed over her own with a sigh she smiled, hearing plainly, ‘They’re foolish, these things to which we cling.’

Perhaps they were. But she clung to them anyhow, not failing to notice that she wasn’t alone, Severus’s heart beating beneath her hand telling her that she never would be again.

In that moment the world was blissfully, agonisingly perfect.

 

 


End file.
